


I Want to Taste Dirty

by princessbelle212



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-23
Updated: 2012-09-23
Packaged: 2017-11-14 22:03:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/519973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessbelle212/pseuds/princessbelle212
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christophe loves dirt, especially when it's covering Gregory. PWP originally written for the kinkmeme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Want to Taste Dirty

Christophe had a dirt fetish. Well, he had several fetishes, especially when Gregory was involved, but dirt had always held a strange fascination for him.

Ever since he was a little boy, the smell and feel of dirt had meant both adrenaline and safety, as he started to dig both for the sake of various jobs involving breaking and entering and to escape and hide from the various gunfights that inevitably broke out around him. 

Gregory said the dirt stuck to his skin was some sort of coping mechanism or some shit, whatever the fuck that meant. But to Christophe, it was just a part of him, the same as his hair or his fingernails, and with the same level of permanence. And even though, in Gregory’s company, he tried to at least keep his face and hands clean, he reveled in the times that Gregory agreed to practice sparring or to help him dig or to race him through the woods or any sort of adrenaline-filled activity, because it gave him an excuse to get the blonde boy unabashedly filthy. Most of the time, Gregory was a picture-perfect image of straight-edged cleanliness, so sparkling white and tidy that Christophe couldn't help but mocked his hygienic habits. However, Christophe had discovered at a young age that Gregory loved adventure and the adrenaline rush that went with it. Gregory was completely unaware of his own filthiness levels in any sort of heightened emotional state. 

At first, their mock fights had been strictly for practice: Christophe teaching throws and falls and punches and how to absorb hits in an attempt to get Gregory to a level necessary for anyone in the business. Unsurprisingly, the goddamn Brit had quickly excelled, and before long, Christophe had to actually think in order to beat him. After a years worth of training, their matches were nearly even, and Christophe’s bulky digging muscles were his only advantage over the other boy. For all his preaching about morality and the rights of the common man, Gregory was not above fighting dirty: never bothering to pull his punches or hesitating to take Christophe crashing into the ground. Over the course of time, the adrenaline rush of their favorite pastime had lead to a variety of cuts and sprained joints and broken bones and generally idiotic decisions.  
The stupid decision foremost on the list had started to occur on a rather regular basis after Christophe had first slipped up. He hadn’t in any way intended for it to happen, despite the vague fantasies and dreams that he would never, ever give voice to, under pain of death. But one day, after he’d nearly won a fight, his brain clawed out of the adrenaline haze and registered for the first time exactly what Gregory looked like as a result of their tussle: pinned to the ground, face flushed in anger, teeth bared, hair a wild tangle, and dirt streaked all over his face. Something inside Christophe had snapped then and repressed desire flooded out in a torrent.

Pulling sharply at Gregory’s hair, he’d yanked his head up into a bruising kiss. He could still recall that moment, the way Gregory’s mouth had felt against his, and the horror when he’d realized what he was doing. He'd abruptly dropped Gregory’s head, convinced that he’d just completely fucked up their entire friendship and working partnership and everything. He was convinced, at least, until Gregory had surprised the ever-living hell out of him and pulled him down to kiss him back just as hungrily. 

And that was why he was in his current position: shirtless, sweaty, and absolutely filthy, with dirt and bits of leaves stuck to his skin. There were bruises forming on his chest and arms, and one of his palms was scraped up where he’d landed on it. Gregory didn’t look much better, sporting a rather magnificent split lip and shallow cuts all along his torso, with dirt and rocks stuck to him in the same way and his ridiculously impractical long hair stuck full of twigs. Christophe somehow, miraculously, had managed to get Gregory pinned, but he was struggling viciously, trying to break Christophe’s hold on his wrists by bucking his hips about like a flopping fish. 

At least, Christophe was fairly certain escape was the reason for the thrashing. Surely Gregory wasn’t aware that he kept brushing against the growing bulge in Christophe’s pants. He was certain of this, at least, until he caught the faint smirk spread across Gregory’s lips, and the victorious glint in his eyes.

Snarling, Christophe relinquished his hold on one of Gregory’s wrists, earning himself an immediate punch to the side of the face. Thankfully, Gregory didn’t really have enough leverage to make the blow hurt badly, so Christophe shook it off and used his freed hand to pin Gregory’s hips to the dirt so he could grind his own hips down against him.

“Goddammit, Christophe,” Gregory yelped in surprise. “Get the hell off of me, prat.” His outburst would have been more effective if he’d managed to stop his hips from returning the motion as Christophe ground into him.

Christophe just grinned lasciviously. Gregory should have expected it at this point. Nine times out of ten, if Christophe won their fight, he wouldn’t let Gregory up until they’d both gotten off. And since Gregory certainly never had any complaints about it, Christophe didn’t intend on stopping the activity any time soon.

Using his weight to keep Gregory in place, he bent down and licked a line up one of the tendons sticking out on Gregory’s neck. The taste of sweat mingled with dirt and the faintly herbal scent that always emanated from Gregory’s skin made him instantly abandon any sort of restraint that he had. He bit into Gregory’s skin, making him gasp and bend his neck to give Christophe better access. Gregory’s nails dug deep into Christophe’s shoulder as he attempted to sit up, to gain some sort of control in the face of Christophe’s attack.

Pulling away, Christophe admired the mark he had left, red and surrounded by teeth marks. He growled in satisfaction until the noise was cut short as Gregory leaned up to kiss him, a mess of teeth and tongues and rapid breathing as they nipped and licked at each other. Christophe ran his tongue along Gregory’s slightly crooked teeth, tasting a faint hint of the cigarette they’d shared before Christophe had said something inappropriate and gotten punched, until Gregory bit down, hard. Christophe pulled away, making a pained noise in the back of his throat until Gregory’s hand fisted in his hair and yanked him down to return the kiss, his tongue sliding over the indentations, soothing the pain away.

“Bitch,” Christophe said, glaring down at Gregory. “What ‘appened to ‘oh Christophe, get off of me,’ hm?” 

“Just stop talking, idiot,” Gregory replied, before taking advantage of Christophe’s distraction to hook his leg over and jam his shoulder into Christophe’s side, flipping him onto his back. They grappled for a few moments, trying to throw punches to assert dominance, but Gregory had more leverage and managed to get Christophe’s arms pinned to the ground.

“Hah,” he said, grinning triumphantly, tossing a chunk of hair out of his face. Christophe narrowed his eyes, scowling fiercely up at him, though his struggles were only half-hearted. If he really wanted to, he could get Gregory under him again, but the sight of the blonde leaning over him with such a wild expression was quite enjoyable, so he settled for just raising an eyebrow at him.

“And what do you plan to do now, princesse? Zere’s no way zat things are staying like zis, I ‘ope you realize.” He bucked his hips up though, wanting more friction.

“We shall see about that then, won’t we,” Gregory smirked at him, keeping his wrists pinned as he slid down Christophe’s torso. 

Christophe hissed sharply at the sudden contact of Gregory’s sweat-slicked chest pressed against his. Twisting his wrists in the blonde’s grip, he managed to get them turned around enough to dig his nails into his skin. He wasn’t quite in the right position to toss Gregory off of him; the leverage he needed prevented by nearly the whole of Gregory’s weight pressing down.  
Gregory smirked down at him. “Tu n’aime pas cet, non?” he murmured, leaning down to let his breath ghost over Christophe’s ear.

Christophe shied away from the sudden sensation, snarling at Gregory. “Just enjoy zis while you can, salope,” he growled, making an involuntary noise in the back of his throat as Gregory licked a slow line under his jaw. As Gregory scraped his teeth along the bone, Christophe tilted his head, letting him continue for a while, giving the blonde some amount of hope that he wouldn’t be the one, for once, to get fucked until he forgot his name. As soon as Gregory let up on his wrists, things were getting flipped around. But for the moment, Christophe just enjoyed the feeling of Gregory tracing the scar on his cheek with his tongue. He turned his head to catch Gregory’s lips, kissing him deeply, their tongues sliding over each other, both breathing raggedly through their noses.

Christophe groaned, tugging at his wrists. He wanted so badly to bury his fists in Gregory’s hair, to run a hand over his lithe muscles, and he snapped his eyes open, glaring up at the other boy.  
“Qu’est-ce que tu veux?” Gregory asked, smirking down at him. 

Christophe cursed his own transparency. Gregory knew far too well how badly Christophe needed him, and never hesitated to use it to his advantage. He always demanded Christophe break down and tell him, as revenge for all the times Christophe made him beg. Scowling, Christophe wondered vaguely if they perhaps let their competition get a little far. But at least they managed to keep things even. He twisted his mouth to one side and glared up at the other boy. Gregory knew exactly what he wanted, and if he just moved two inches, Christophe could just take it without being reduced to asking for it.  
His resolve started to fade, though, when Gregory rolled his hips against him, and Christophe could feel exactly how much the blonde wanted it. Letting his head fall back, he arched up into Gregory, wanting that friction to continue.

“Goddammit fuck, princesse, I ‘ave to touch you. Maintenent.” Christophe’s voice was reduced to a low growl, his hands twisting about hopelessly in Gregory’s grip.

“Manners, you filthy rogue. Say please,” Gregory replied, though his smirk was somewhat less effective with his cheeks starting to flush red, his lips slightly parted as he gasped for air.

“S’tu plait,” Christophe spat out, summoning up all his strength to wrench his arms free and sit up. He immediately gripped one hand tightly in Gregory’s hair, grinning sadistically as the other boy’s face screwed up in pain. He deserved it, and it had become rather evident that he liked it, that he liked any aspect of the fight, even when he was losing.  
Christophe used his other hand to grab Gregory’s hip and flip him onto his back. Gregory’s hands scrabbled against his back, leaving red lines down Christophe’s skin as he tried to get free, tossing about to try and squirm out from Christophe’s weight. 

“Hah,” Christophe said, grinning triumphantly. “You let zat ‘appen. Clearly you must want it like zis.”

“Shut it,” Gregory snapped, face flushing again. He couldn’t deny what was so plainly evident, but he wasn’t going to admit that he wanted. Not yet, anyway. Christophe would drag an admission out of him before they were done.

To preoccupied to do anything but smirk in response, Christophe slowly rolled his hips against Gregory’s, hissing at the friction, and feeling self-satisfied when Gregory’s head fell back, his eyes half-lidded. But he was far too stubborn to moan, to let Christophe know exactly how much he enjoyed it.

Sensing the unspoken challenge in Gregory’s silence, Christophe sat up to straddle him, using his knees to pin Gregory’s wrists to the ground so his hands were free to work the obnoxious belt buckle that was the only thing preserving Gregory’s modesty. 

“Your clothes are like a fucking safe, goddammit,” Christophe grumbled. “Thank fucking ‘ell I’m a professional safe-breaker.” He laughed at his own impeccable wit, until he saw the flat, unimpressed look on Gregory’s face.

“Just hurry the hell up, idiot,” Gregory said, rolling his eyes. “You needn't complain simply because I actually understand the meaning of the words ‘fashion sense.’”

Christophe scowled at him, and left his belt alone for just long enough to tug at his hair sharply. “Fils de chienne,” he grumbled, but planted a kiss on Gregory’s lips, sliding his tongue over his teeth.  
Once his head was spinning enough, he returned to the critical task of disrobing the blond boy, finally managing to rip off his belt and the various accoutrements attached to it. He tore impatiently at the button and zipper, and tugged the pants down over Gregory’s hips, letting them pool around his knees.

A feral, possessive growl escaped his lips. The sight of nearly-nude Gregory never ceased to amaze him, nor the fact that he was the one of all people to be allowed to witness such perfection. Of course, Gregory would probably mock him to no end if he knew the extent of Christophe’s worshipping, so he kept his mouth shut. He leaned forward again, finally taking his knees off of Gregory’s wrists, and laced their fingers together.

“I’ve been waiting all damn day to fuck you,” he breathed into Gregory’s ear, letting his lips brush over the soft skin. “Sitting zere, in class, watching you scribble away at your notes, looking so tidy and proper, and I was thinking ze entire time, zat ze ozzer bitches in class ‘ad no idea ‘ow bad you can look, ‘ow dirty,” he pressed a kiss under Gregory’s jaw, then trailed his tongue down his throat to his collarbone, and sucked a dark red mark onto his skin. “‘Ow needy,” he moved lower and twirled his tongue around the other boy’s nipple, making him gasp, and one of his hands gripped Christophe’s hair, urging him down farther.  
Christophe could see the deep flush that had spread down from Gregory’s face to his chest, tingeing him pink, and he grinned, feeling pleased with himself. Of course, Gregory didn’t respond to anything he was saying, barely even gasped, but at least the blush was sign enough that it affected him. 

The skin on Gregory’s stomach was sweaty, and tasted faintly of dirt, but that combination just made Christophe’s dick twitch with want, and he made a low noise in his throat, and pressed open-mouthed kisses down the lines of Gregory’s muscles. Gregory’s fingers tightened convulsively in his hair, silently urging him on. When his mouth met crinkly blonde hair, Christophe paused and looked up, eyes narrowed but a wide grin plastered across his face. “What now? You made me say please, I should return the favor.”

Gregory sat halfway up, and bucked his hips upward insistently, glaring steadily at Christophe all the while. “Don’t be an idiot,” he snapped, and pushed Christophe’s head back down forcefully.

Christophe just had time to let out a quick chuckle before he swallowed Gregory’s hard cock into his mouth. That, at least got a lovely reaction. Gregory arched up, choking off a moan before it escaped fully, his fingers twisting spasmodically in Christophe’s hair. 

“God-” he gasped, and Christophe could tell he was steadily on his way to letting his prim-and-proper mask fall away. 

Christophe chuckled low in his throat, the vibrations making Gregory writhe again. He swirled his tongue one last time over the head of Gregory’s dick before pulling off of him.

Gregory growled at the loss of sensation, and tried to force Christophe’s head back down. Christophe grabbed his wrists before Gregory regained enough of his motor control, though, and flipped him onto his stomach.

Of course, Gregory tried to fight him off, twisting about violently and landing a few good kicks to Christophe’s legs, but he wasn’t in a position to heave Christophe off of him, and Christophe twisted one of his wrists until his arm was locked behind his back. Gregory had to stop fighting so he didn’t go crashing face-first into the dirt.

“Goddamnit, let me up,” he demanded, but Christophe just pressed his chest against Gregory’s back so he could run his tongue along the helix of Gregory’s ear. 

“Don’t be a bitch,” he murmured. “Don’t pretend like you ‘ave a chance of winning or I will maybe not be as nice.”

Gregory huffed in annoyance, but let his back relax. Christophe laughed triumphantly, and started to press open-mouthed kisses down his spine, running his tongue over the bumps. He cautiously released his grip on Gregory’s wrist, and instead of fighting back, the other boy seemed to have accepted that he was bottoming this time.

When Christophe’s mouth reached Gregory’s lower back, the blonde boy let out a quiet sigh of satisfaction, and arched his back convulsively. Christophe growled low in his throat, and continued his journey downward.

If Christophe had been a poetic type, he probably would have written odes or sonnets or some sort of fucking bullshit like that to the perfection of Gregory’s ass. But since that flowery bullshit was for fucking pussies, the only thing that Christophe could do was split him open and lave his tongue over his hole. 

His effort was well worth Gregory’s reaction. The blond boy keened loudly, practically sobbing with the sensation, and pushed back against Christophe’s mouth. “Please, fuck you, please,” he begged, all his prim snobbery vanished as he writhed in the dirt.

Christophe was more than happy to oblige, and began tongue-fucking him properly until the muscles relaxed and Gregory was lying boneless with his ass in the air, gasping sobs with each movement of Christophe’s tongue. 

“I hate you so damn much,” Gregory breathed, voice hitching as Christophe’s tongue ran up the crack of his ass. “And don’t think I’ll kiss you again until you’ve cleaned up properly.”

There was no venom behind his words though, and Christophe just grinned down at his prone form before leaning down to kiss the back of his neck. “Whatever you say, mon ange.” His hard cock rubbed over Gregory’s spit-slicked ass, and Christophe groaned as he forced himself to hold back. He couldn’t fuck Gregory dry, as much as he wanted to, and he pulled away with a groan and grabbed up his pants, leaving Gregory still panting on the ground. 

The packet of lube was still safely tucked into a pocket of Christophe’s pants, and he pulled it out triumphantly. He slicked it over his fingers and crawled back over to Gregory. “So ‘ave you accepted ze terms of zis fucking, princesse?” he asked, grinning down at him.

Gregory rolled his head to the side and glared up at Christophe from the corner of his eye. “If you don’t get to fucking me right this instant, I am going to walk away and go find Wendy,” he threatened.  
Christophe narrowed his eyes, feeling an immediate rush of jealousy, even though the idea was ridiculous. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he snarled, and shoved two fingers into Gregory’s ass.

The blond whimpered again, the defiant glare immediately leaving his face as his eyes shut and his mouth parted in pleasure. He moaned, and Christophe couldn’t tell if it was for show or not, but the sound motivated him to greater lengths.

Gregory was loose enough that Christophe could scissor his fingers almost immediately, alternating stretching him out with trying to find his prostate. He knew Gregory’s body almost as well as he knew his own, though, and soon Gregory was arching back, pushing against his fingers and moaning without restraint.

“Right there, god, right fucking there,” Gregory cried, bracing his forehead against his elbows as he shoved backwards. “Another finger, now.”  
Eager to comply, Christophe added his ring finger, marvelling at how well Gregory could accommodate them. It was a damn good thing, though, since the one benefit to being tall and noisy and not fucking stealthy at all was that his cock had grown proportionally to the rest of him. “Are you ready? I do not think I can wait longer,” he gasped, his forehead resting between the wings of Gregory’s shoulder blades.

“Yes, yes please,” Gregory begged, and flipped himself over with Christophe’s fingers still in him. “Like this though, I want to see you.” 

The noise Christophe made at Gregory’s request was embarrassingly weak, and he was worried his dick would explode if he didn’t get to the fucking right away. “Bon,” he growled, and removed his fingers. He had to grip the base of his cock while he slicked himself with lube, too worried he’d come from even that slight sensation.

Christophe grabbed Gregory’s legs and hitched them over his shoulders, raising his ass in the air so he could slide into him. Even with the preparation, Gregory felt impossibly tight, and the heat from his body radiated into Christophe, especially without the fuckery of a condom in the way. Christophe groaned loudly -not a moan, that shit was for bitches- and turned his head until his forehead rested against Gregory’s leg, trying to collect himself and not simply come immediately like a preteen dumbfuck.

Gregory was tense as Christophe stretched him out, and it took a moment for him to relax again, the pressure slowly giving way to pleasure. “Move now, please,” he asked, eyes shut and his lower lip caught between his teeth.

There was nothing more beautiful in the world, and Christophe was helpless but to obey. He moved slowly, sliding nearly all the way and making Gregory gasp with sensation before he slammed back into him. He did it again, then lost all his self control and started to thrust with abandon. 

The sound of bodies slapping together echoed off the trees, but the sound was muffled by the harsh panting of the boys’ breath as they moaned and growled and moved together, quickly finding a rhythm suitable for the built up adrenaline and excitement. Christophe’s hand moved to Gregory’s cock, and it only took a few strokes before the blond was coming all over his chest and stomach and Christophe’s fingers.  
Christophe would have been embarrassed at how quickly he came after, his stamina shot to all hell, but the intensity nearly made him black out as he stopped breathing, mouth open in a silent yell as he spent himself inside the blond, and there was no time to think about his endurance.

They both collapsed heavily onto the forest floor, Christophe half-sprawled across Gregory as they tried to catch their breath. Nothing needed to be said. Their fuck sessions were as intense as everything else in their lives, and romantic bullfuckingshit was for fucking pussies.

That’s what Christophe told himself, at least, as he curled around Gregory, limbs heavy and drowsy and tangled with the blond’s. It wasn’t cuddling, and it wasn’t sweet, he was just too tired to move to find his clothes.

And it certainly didn’t mean anything when his fingers found Gregory’s and twined with his, the dirt on both their skin sticking together. And it was the wind that had ruffled Gregory’s hair, not whisper of “je t’aime.” Feelings were for pussies, and Christophe would never let himself have any for an uptight blond Britfag. 

He didn’t see Gregory’s faint smile, though, or the mouthed confession of “I love you, too,” as the blond reached for his clothes and pulled out a cigarette and lighter to hand back to the Frenchman.  
Gregory rolled to face him and they smoked the cigarette together, passing it between them as they lay entwined in the middle of the woods, covered in dirt and leaves and sweat. Christophe studied his handiwork, and couldn’t help the dazed smile across his face as he stared at Gregory. God was a bitch, but at least he’d made dirt.


End file.
